


Play me them ragtime boos

by Hello_Spikey



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2012-10-30
Packaged: 2019-10-30 01:12:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17818976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hello_Spikey/pseuds/Hello_Spikey
Summary: Buffy and Spike continue their lighthearted tour of the US.





	Play me them ragtime boos

**Author's Note:**

> Must get it! Can she do it?? Prompt attack! :)

"It's all wail-y and repetitive," Buffy said, sticking out her tongue.

Spike held a hand over his stricken heart. "Says the girl who listens to top forty. I suppose I should know better than to have asked."

Buffy put the record back on the make-shift table of crates and boards. "Hey, let's not make this an old-guy verses young-girl thing. Some music is just better than other music." She shifted around, looking through the stack of LPs, wearing only a blanket that she held tight to her chest and that dragged open in the back.

Spike sat back and admired the view, but when she reached for the turntable, he dashed to intercept her. "Let it play, love. It fits the place."

Buffy shrugged and dropped back into the nest they'd made of blankets and clothing. "It is kinda decrepit," she said.

It was an old garret they'd broken into on the run, in a neighborhood of Saint Louis emptied by urban blight. Outside it was early Summer, just hot enough to feel a little stuffy in their hideaway, but nudity took care of most of that. Buffy was taking the needs of her sunshine-incompatible lover well in stride, brushing crumbles of plaster out of the way and snuggling down against his bare chest. She'd softened with age, or hardened. His girl who would once wail at the thought of a night without a shower, lounging around au natural in a condemned building. The wood floor was cool underneath them and smooth. It was still a well-built house.

He picked her hand up off his chest and kissed it. The record turned, filling the empty room with trills and runs, up and down the scales of emotion. "Actual electricity, a stash of excellent vintage records, and absolutely nothing else to keep us occupied until sundown. All in all, it's the best hideout yet," Spike said.

"You'd be happy in a tent in a blizzard if I were naked in it."

Spike shrugged. "You could even skip the tent."

Buffy snuggled a little closer, the blanket slipping away. A scratchy woman's voice called out, "Sweet baby, play me them ragtime blues." And Spike suspected, from the lift of Buffy's cheek, that he may just have imparted a tiny bit of musical taste on the love of his unlife.

He had it bad, but baby, that was good.


End file.
